Chapter Text
The chrome of the old black sedan glints in the harsh sunlight. The slick surface is glossy and unmarred, reeking of ill-fated intent. Its wheels churn slowly over the crackling asphalt; from the slitted driver side window a thick smoke plumes up towards the sky. The air roils with humidity, its hot tempered breeze offering no relief. The driver turns onto a dirt road, leaving dust that fumes in the rearview mirror and shimmers in the captured sun rays. At the end of the street there slumps an old, paint chipped house. Crevices snake throughout the driveway, sprouting forth resilient green. The man from the driver's seat frowns as he exits the now silent vehicle. The plants wilt underfoot, losing their vibrancy to each step. The front door rattles with precise, yet resounding, knocks. Quiet shuffling comes from the other side. In mere seconds the door swings open. The man on the other side is short, his brown hair is rowed into braids, and the way in which he holds himself carries tell-tale signs of lingering weariness. But the grin growing across his face is lively, albeit a hint lascivious. He leans against the splintering frame, arms crossing in a friendly manner.
“Afternoon,” he drawls, eyeing the nicely dressed, familiar, figure.
“Johnny,” he greets with a small nod, “may I come in?”
“‘Course.” Johnny pushes himself from the threshold, taking a step back before turning into the house. Cold seeps into his skin, engulfing him from behind as the man follows in suit. He walks down the slanted hallway to a kitchen branching from the left. It is small, complete with a worn circular table housing three rickety chairs. As Johnny makes himself busy, his guest noiselessly sits. His thin fingers thrum the table, hawk-like eyes following Johnny’s every motion.
“You’re starin’,” Johnny murmurs, to which the rhythmic thrumming ceases. A great pressure swells within the small room. It is as if the very air has thickened, it’s harsh density clogging through his lungs with each suffocating inhale. A quiet cacophony, layered with many resonating voices, hums across the back of his head. With an eyebrow raised Johnny faces the man in his kitchen. Though barely perceptible, his skin ripples as if a pool of water that has been disturbed. He sits otherwise utterly still, lips downturned in the slightest of frowns. Ignoring the change in atmosphere, Johnny places a mug of coffee on the table, sipping from his own as he takes a seat. He is leaning back, one leg outstretched, socked foot resting close to the spotless black shoe across. Expectantly he gazes through the space between them. Johnny’s dark eyes slip along his gaunt frame, focusing on the parchment being withdrawn from his suit jacket. It is placed atop the table delicately.
“A contract,” he states, boring through Johnny’s mind with his unwavering stare, “one with a… clerical error.”
“Oh?” Johnny asks coyly, tilting his head just barely to one side. “What might that be?”
“The spelling of a specific word.”
“Hmm, an important one I take?” Johnny’s slight grin is lopsided, mirthful eyes glinting with provocation. They meet a narrowed opposition, annoyance tugging the frown deeper on the other's face.
“I am here to request that you sign a revised and corrected contract.” A short silence muddles the room, bubbling with insincere consideration. Fingers lacing atop the table, Johnny leans forward.
“And if I just so happen to decline your request?” His eyebrow twitches. The air in the room grows thicker, a choking humidity that burns acrid in Johnny’s lungs.
“You are not obligated to agree. Afterall, it is not the contract you agreed upon. More of a courtesy to the demon you made it with.” His vocals grate, words sounding less like words and more as if metal and glass.
“I would prefer to keep the original.” A begrudging jaw clenches with the utmost minimal change in expression. The shift is minute, but the compression of the encroaching air entwining with the summer's humidity pulses with it the expression well enough. Johnny’s smile warps into something of its own- something yearning endearment, yet blooming with self set upon destruction.
“Very well then.” The Devil leans back in his chair, hiding his discomfort somewhere in his rigid posture. “How shall we go about this?”
Johnny gazes at him thoughtfully, “howsa ‘bout you come on back tomorrow evenin’? I can have everything prepared by seven.” Despite his dissatisfaction, he nods an agreement.
“Y’know,” Johnny speaks up from two steps behind the Devil, whose hand twitches as its reach for the front door pauses, “if the deal makes you uncomfortable we can call it off. For all it requires, it ain’t as if I made it with you- not really fair to include you in something you ain’t involved in af-”
It happens quickly, so very quickly that Johnny’s mind is left staggering. Though he feels the old wallpaper hard against his back, it doesn’t quite process as well as the frigid drop in temperature. His body trembles as an icy pain radiates from the hand gripping his shoulder.
“You know as well as I that is not how it works.” The heat of his breath across Johnny’s lips burns. He fights the chattering of his teeth, ears ringing from the shrill frequency that lingers after the others words. The Devil’s eyes are narrowed into irises of molten gold that move as if loosely contained liquid. His perfectly gelled hair appears to mist in and out of solidity at a rapid pace- unable to stay in one proper form. The flesh on his face ripples minutely with the air. Johnny offers a slow blink, ignoring the black forming in his peripherals; whether real or not he doesn’t know.
“Thought I might as well offer,” he murmurs sincerely, earnestly. The Devil’s eyes narrow in a softer way. His entire being ripples once, in time with the room's dense atmosphere. Johnny’s shoulder is numbing from the cold touch. They watch one another closely, gazes unwavering. Cotton grows its way through Johnny’s mouth, flourishing in his throat. And his mind is screaming, urging him to look away, but he doesn’t. Instead, he sentiments a small smile.
“You really are too much, Johnny,” the Devil all but sighs out in a whisper. Johnny has often found that he enjoys the way the Devil says his name- now is no exception. He moves his hand to the strong one on his shoulder, wrapping his fingers around it and slipping away. The front door swings open and he pulls the Devil out into the breaking day. Though tremors still stilt his nerves, the sun feels welcoming. He relinquishes his hand, leaning against the sleek car door. Creases form at the elbows of the Devil’s suit jacket, created by the crossing of his arms. There is no shadow at his feet as he strides forward, and the way the heat wavers about his body warps any stability in his frame. He stares down at the troublesome human, this man who holds all the bravery and boldness from his youth, yet none of the naivety. This man who once dealt his eternal soul for a fiddle so heavy and useless, so pretty and impractical. This man who bested the Devil, all cocky and brimming with mischief. This man who stands before him now, staring up at him evenly.
“I am dangerous,” he reminds, hand brushing past Johnny’s hip as he grabs the door handle.
“And yet, here we are.”
“Here we are.”
“Am I dangerous?” He doesn’t really need to ask, but he wants to hear him say it- hear him acknowledge their game. The door presses against his back and he steps out of the way, keeping his eyes locked onto the Devils.
“You’re dangerous to me,” he says softly, closing the door and waving once as he backs out to the road, disappearing into a tunnel of dust.
Chapter Text
The heaviness that has been gathering over the last few days has finally reached its swell. It is early in the morning when the sky erupts with a crackle, letting go of the fat drops to pool on the earth. No longer is the outside unbearably sweltering. Johnny climbs into his old, faded pickup and heads into town. The shops in which he buys his groceries are quiet, but the bar he stops at before heading home has a decent patronage. It is one he often frequents, playing the stage on occasional weeknights, and coming out to drink on the weekends. He is greeted with a nod from the bartender who slides him a whisky without a word. Johnny will be back in the early evening, but for now he bottoms the glass and returns back to the storm… Water patters heavily against the roof, a soothing beat that sways his body about the kitchen… Noon has come and gone, passing away with the preparation of fresh carrots and corn…
The clock is ticking past four, and Johnny is spotlit under hot lights. Sweat trickles down his back, soaking into the fabric of his loose button-up. Rosin floats from the twinge of the bow across his fiddle, perceptible only to him- and perhaps to the shadowed outline morphing in the bars furthest corner. His long calloused fingers pluck the strings, energy coursing through each rapid note. A buzz swarms around his instrument, entwining with his notes and he glances again to that dark corner. It is vacant, the lingering shadows not quite as dense. But there is a man in the crowd, muddled with the patrons, his perfect black suit appears out of place. Though he is hard to focus on, and the longer Johnny stares the more his vision blurs, colors melding into indiscernible shapes. He blinks. The man watches his hands, expression distinct, but unreadable. Johnny feels a smile tugging his mouth… By the time he is stepping from the stage, fingers aching and head a tad bit fuzzy, the man no longer sits in the crowd…
The wood of the bartop is sticky, its lacquered surface spotted with spilt alcohol. A brush of cold radiates beside him, tinging an ache in his shoulder. He does not need to look to know that the Devil has taken up a seat. They don’t speak, but when Johnny slides the glass in his direction, the Devil accepts his offer. The sip he takes is small, a slight, contemplative hmph escaping his lips at the taste. He turns on his barstool, knees pressed against Johnny’s thigh, and holds the glass to him. Without hesitance he looks over, their fingers touching as he grasps the glass. There is a second of stillness within the exchange, a moment of respite from the stifle and stilt of the clamorous room. The taste of the whiskey is bitter, sprawling across his mouth and layering in his throat. The tang of aftertaste is almost sour, leaving a slick film as it worms into his stomach. He runs his tongue across the roof of his mouth, taste buds overcome with a bile worthy sweetness. The Devil studies his features, waiting for the smallest shift in expression. Johnny takes another sip…
The rain has calmed to a drizzle, condensation misting the world in a woven blanket of fog. Johnny’s jacket is slung over his shoulder, his eyes closed to the sky as he inhales deeply. The dripping metal of his truck is cool in a way that is comforting, familiar against the curve of his back. The hairs on his arms raise, body sensing a presence in the absence of sight.
“Need a ride?” He calls, not bothering to open his eyes. There is an alteration in the area before him. “Yer goin’ my way after all.”
When he opens his eyes the Devil is silent, watching him in a way that one might an animal it doesn’t understand. He is close, enough so that the tips of their shoes press firmly against one another. The world around them is static, as much so as the thing parading as a man before Johnny is. But he gives in, eyes trailing down his body in a slow deliberation, and responds with a decisive,
“Yes.” The car ride is silent, lulled by the radio. The Devil watches the landscape pass through the passenger window… He follows Johnny into the house, body conspicuously dry.
“Since yer here early, might as well make yourself useful,” Johnny says as he walks down the hall, “why don’t you set the table while I change.”
The footfalls behind him pause, yet once again he gives in, brushing past Johnny to the kitchen… When he strolls into the room the Devil is leaning against the counter, jacket tucked over his chair at the set table. Johnny flashes a smile, moving to the stovetop, where the broth and vegetables await cooking.
“You don’t have to go through with this,” Johnny attempts, glancing behind him. He is met with an eyebrow raised in warning and shakes his head slightly. After a moment he leaves the soup, planting himself before the Devil. Without a word he leans up, reaching beside his head to open a cupboard. Their noses brush, but Johnny does not move as he pulls a hot mat from the shelf. His arm falls back to his side, his stomach grazing the others as he inhales. The Devil's eyes swirl with orange, a mirage of fire consuming the gold. Those hellish eyes are locked on Johnny’s lips, but this time the Devil does not give in and Johnny takes a step back. It is his turn to raise a challenging eyebrow, placing the hot mat on the table, and returning to the soup.
“It’s done.” When he brings the pot to the table the Devil has already taken his seat. He is not looking at Johnny, rather the grooves in the old wood. It is only when Johnny ladles the soup into his bowl that he looks up, expression untelling. He follows those calloused hands, moving so gently to serve their meal. It is only after Johnny has settled across the table, sleeves rolled and spoon in hand, does the Devil begin. To him the soup is near tasteless, leaving behind an after burn of ash- but he does not say so. Instead, he finishes his bowl and patiently sits back in his chair. He is tired, weary from the confinement of this form. It must show on his face for Johnny shoots him a questioning look, finishing his own bowl. He gives a tight lipped smile, but it does not portray the reassurance he intends. He remains sitting as Johnny gathers the dishes, bringing them to the sink before putting the rest of dinner into the fridge. It is when he is washing the dishes that the room falters, a sweltering energy clinging to the kitchen's corners. It heats his nerves, twisting in his belly. The Devil, sitting ever so still at the table, does not appear to be particularly aware of the shift he has created.
“There’s no need to be nervous.” There is a teasing quality to Johnny’s tone that plucks at the Devil’s patience. Within a breath he has risen from the chair, forcefully turning Johnny to face him. He appears larger, as if a threatened bird with ruffled feathers.
“Are you trying to anger me?” He all but seethes when met with a coy smile. A hand smoothes down his shoulder and he releases an irritated sigh.
“Do you even have to ask?” He retorts good-naturedly.
“Let’s get this over with then.” He states, to which Johnny opens his mouth to speak. He quickly decides against it when the Devil’s expression darkens, knowing the words about to come out. He gives a small nod in compromise, hands holding the countertop behind. He opens his features to admiration and the Devil shuffles back some, pointedly looking away as he releases himself from his human bounds.
He is somehow everything and nothing- eyes that blink in and out of perception, a writhing mist that contains an endless vastness holding an infinite weight, morphing geometries that resemble shapes less and less as their forms waver with mass. There are chromatic wings, dusted with ash and burning without fire- glimpses of razor-edged feathers. He is a kaleidoscope amalgamation that encompasses Johnny’s existence, filling his senses with rot and comfort. His mind is bending, expanding and collapsing in on itself in its attempt to rationalize what refuses to be comprehended. And when he touches him, a tendril no more tangible than a fleeting whisper, he shivers.
“Yer beautiful,” Johnny whispers back, sincerity spilling with each letter. For a sliver of a moment all of the chaos comes together, a human shaped entity that swells towards Johnny, melding their mouths as freezing hands cradle his face. And Johnny finds himself lost, tumbling through the kiss as his knuckles turn white from his grip on the counter. His knees are weak, body held up by the hand that moves from his face to the small of his back. He finds himself surging forward as they begin to part, chasing after the Devil who meets him without hesitance. Johnny inhales deeply, head spinning as he tries to catch his breath. He rests his forehead against the Devil’s, feeling the swirl of his contained being.
“That wasn’t part of the deal,” he mumbles, face shining.
“There are very few humans worth tolerating Johnny,” the Devil rumbles, “and you are, unfortunately, better than any of them.”
“Unfortunately,” he repeats with a wide grin.
“Unfortunately,” the Devil echoes, hiding his own smile as he pulls Johnny against him, stroking his cheek with his thumb and kissing him again…
Notes:
The deal itself was to see the Devil's true form in exchange for Johnny's soup. The clerical error being soup instead of soul. I do have more written that I'll get around to posting.
Chapter 3: Three
Notes:
Content Warning: This is the spicy chapter.
Chapter Text
“Why don’t you stay the night?” Johnny suggests, voice muffled by the cushion on the back of the couch. He is gazing up at the Devil, who leans on the threshold with his hands in his pockets. His sigh carries across the space- a light frosting that tickles Johnny’s nose.
“That does not seem like a wise decision.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because,” the Devil saunters to the couch, bending at the waist so as to be level with the stubborn man, “we both know what would happen.”
“And?” He blinks slowly, deliberately. When no response graces his suggestivity, he turns away and crosses his arms. “When will I see you next?”
The Devil straightens his posture, hands clasped behind his back as he eyes Johnny. He does not answer, opting instead to step closer. His hands snake down to rest on his chest, soaking in the heat that radiates from underneath the thin fabric. He tilts his head back, eyes soft for the man above. Once again the Devil leans down, bringing his lips to Johnny’s in a way much gentler than he had in the kitchen. A moment passes, then the Devil is walking around the couch with Johnny’s eyes following his movement.
“Maybe I will stay the night,” he concedes, bending his legs on either side of Johnny’s thighs and draping his arms over his shoulders. He grins. It is filled with wicked intent, salacious as he leans in closer. He drags his hands slowly down Johnny’s chest, brushing his thumbs over his nipples. At a lazed pace he grinds his hips down and forward. His grin only grows as Johnny releases an excited exhale, twitching against the motion. Rough hands make quick work of his rumpled shirt, exposing the near translucent flesh beneath. There is something swirling within the mirage, a vitality that leaks into the ambiance of the room. Johnny nips testingly at the Devil’s neck, teasing the skin between his teeth. He leaves a trail of dark marks leading to his collarbone. Cold fingers curl into the hair at the base of his neck, dragging his head back. He gifts a look of confusion, but the needy gaze in the Devil’s eyes washes it away. He slips backwards, dragging his hands down Johnny’s body as he settles on the floor. His palms are flat on the others thighs as he directs them apart. Nimble fingers make quick work of his pants, tugging them until they fall around his ankles. His cock is semi-hard through his briefs. The Devil guides one of Johnny’s hands to that touch starved cock, never once taking his eyes off of those hazy brown ones fixated back.
“Stroke yourself slowly,” he orders with a resonating purr, “through the fabric.”
Johnny simply nods and runs his thumb over his dick, then lightly clasps the shaft, and brushes forward. The Devil shrugs off his shirt, tossing it to the side before it can crumple fully to the floor. He stands on his knees, scanning Johnny’s body as he unbuttons his pants. And Johnny is chasing those hands with his glazed eyes, taking in every detail of the fallen angel's hand, every dip and divet of his hips and chest, the subtle flexing of his biceps as he unhurriedly removes his pants. He lowers himself slightly, then bobs his body up and down in time with Johnny’s strokes. His hands, those cold and powerful, clawed hands, make their way once again along his thighs; his thumb drags painstakingly slow across the sensitive inner part. They go up Johnny’s briefs, gripping the fabric before suddenly pulling them off. When he jerks his hand back, slightly startled, the Devil is quick to grab it. He brings it to lips, kissing each finger once. The coolness of his mouth sends tingling shocks up his arm with every kiss. A forked tongue flicks leisurely out, swiping across his lips. He guides Johnny’s hands to his short hair. It feels as if a storm cloud whisping around his skin. He grabs low on his hips, sharp nails digging into the supple flesh- intentful, smoldering eyes staring up as that icy mouth closes around the head of his throbbing erection. His tongue sweeps over the tip and a breathy auh~ tumbles from Johnny’s parted lips. His hands make tangible the misty hair, grasping hard. The Devil takes him halfway, tongue moving up and down his shaft.
“You’ve really damned me now,” Johnny all but moans out, less words and more hot breath. He is acknowledged by a deep laugh that vibrates around his cock and coerces a loud moan. At the noise the Devil dips his head, mouth returning to the tip before taking in his entirety. The hold on his hips tightens, causing a louder moan to tumble out. He repeats the action quickly, falling into a steady stride, eliciting a stream of pleasures and a husky, whimpered,
“ fuck. ” Johnny covers his mouth, disastrously attempting to stifle his noises; to which the Devil stops, murmuring around the dick in his mouth,
“I want to hear you.” He does as the Devil wants, removing his hand from his mouth and returning it to the man’s hair. His hips rock forward as the Devil resumes sucking his dick. Johnny is loud, tugging needily at his hair. He presses his heel to the tent that has formed in the others boxers, and the Devil juts forward, nearly gagging on his cock with a low groan. He follows the others rhythm, rubbing as pre-cum dampens the fabric.
“ Ah, ah I-I can’t- I’m gon- ” Johnny is unable to get the words out before he cums, seed spilling from the Devil’s mouth as he swallows heftily. He is left panting, bleary eyes staring into liquid orange. With a flick of his tongue, the Devil cleans his lips. In a split decision Johnny pulls the others arms away from him, forcing the Devil to his feet. He reaches forward, palming the front of his boxers. A cool hand clings to his shoulder as the man’s body leans against the touch.
“J-Johnny,” he breathes out, “please.”
“Do you want to cum?” Johnny’s tone is alluring, as if the sirens leading a ship to ruin. The Devil nods, biting his bottom lip as that tantalizing hand slips into the fabric. His eyes are half lidded as his sharp teeth cause a thin bead of blood to pool.
“Then beg.” A low growl unfurls from deep in his throat at Johnny’s sickly sweet words. Static crackles from the walls and the Devil, even in his mercied state, seems to loom over Johnny. An aura of black blurries his edges, whipping around his body.
“ Please ,” he gasps out, “ Johnny, I-I have to cum. P-please- ah, Johnny~ ”
He is cut off by their lips colliding. The Devil tastes of burning embers, of wilting flowers and saccharine decay- and as Johnny’s thumb rubs over his tip he moans into the kiss, cumming as his knees nearly give way. In the moments after they breath against one another, held close with their foreheads together.
“Yer beautiful,” Johnny whispers.
“Not quite so as you,” the Devil whispers back.
Chapter 4: 3.5
Notes:
This is the last one. It's extremely short.
Chapter Text
They are standing in the bathroom. Cradled within the Devil’s hands is a damp washcloth. He drags it across Johnny’s skin, cleaning him delicately. They are quiet. A mechanical hum emits from the overhead light, bathing them in a dim golden-yellow. Johnny takes the cloth, rinsing it before washing the Devil. His skin seems to shudder, but his expression never changes. His eyes are the color of hayfields in the setting sun- calm and content. He allows himself to be pulled from the room, taking the hand that is offered. In the bedroom he is given clean clothes. The woven threads are light and he stares at the stitching.
“Y’alright?” Johnny murmurs as he pulls on boxers. The Devil regains his composure, though there is fondness glinting in his eyes.
“Of course.”
“Yet stayin’ the night?” Johnny asks, wavering on the threshold of uncertainty.
“Is that what you want?” The Devil purs, stalking forward in the others loose fitting clothes. He grips the sides of Johnny’s boxers, pulling their hips together. Any uncertainty seeps away as Johnny’s arms meld over the Devil’s shoulders.
“Of course,” he repeats the others words, leading them backwards to the bed. They fall gracelessly onto the mattress. Johnny shifts from under the other, moving to his pillow and laying on his side as the Devil crawls over. He tips Johnny onto his back, resting his head atop his beating heart.
“I’ve work to do in the morning,” the Devil begins.
“So, I’ll see ya fer dinner,” Johnny interrupts, fingers tracing senseless lines across his back. It is met with an amused huff and light pinch to his abdomen.
“Dinner it is then,” he concedes without a fight. Their polarized body temperatures mix, creating a tepid coolness engulfs Johnny’s being. It is comforting, lulling him to sleep as the Devil wordlessly counts his every heartbeat.
FlyingPastaBunny378 on Chapter 4 Tue 02 Aug 2022 07:48AM UTC
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